


Overtime

by glow_in_the_dark



Series: Little Fluffy Oneshots [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Tea, sherlock being cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:26:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1527893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glow_in_the_dark/pseuds/glow_in_the_dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has worked over 80 hours this week, and will no doubt have to go into work tomorrow too. Arriving home beyond dead tired, his flatmate seems to take make it his personal mission to make John comfortable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overtime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [penumbra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penumbra/gifts).



> Just a small thing for Anotherwellkeptsecret. She has worked over 80 hours this week and had to work the next day too, in a place that sounds very stressful. So I wrote her some fluff to hopefully help her relax after another stressful day. Hope this works C:
> 
> Not beta'd so all of those delicious typos and succulent grammatical errors be mine.

Sherlock heard the front door open and shut. Pattern recognised as one _very_ tired John Watson.

He heard the slow tread of weight shifting as John climbed the stairs. The clinic was always understaffed during the worst of the winter period, and John's ability to deny any and all viruses made him the perfect person to call when things became understaffed. Aided by him inability to say 'no'.

It took one look at John for Sherlock to see that 'very tired' was an understatement. How John was still standing Sherlock had no idea.

"I was thinking I'd call Angelo's, see if they'd deliver." Sherlock stayed still as he watched John slowly shed his jacket, letting it fall to lay on the floor. 

"Mh." John mumbled, slowly shuffling over to his armchair.

Sherlock took that as agreement, dialling Angelo's number. He spoke directly to Angelo, placing his order of all of John's favourites and smiling after a grilling questionnaire about what was wrong with the great Sherlock Holmes' legs, that yes, they would deliver, but only this once because Angelo could sympathise with Sherlock's partner having to work overtime.

"How about tea in the mean time?" Standing, Sherlock moved through into the kitchen.

"Mh."

John's answer, or lack thereof, was irrelevant. Sherlock would make tea, the _perfect tes_ , and John would drink it and feel better. Tea always made him feel better. 

Check jug: no current mould cultures, currently clean. Cleanish. Good enough. Fill with water: just enough for over a cups worth, makes boiling time quicker. Flick switch and turn it on. Get a mug: the one Sherlock had given him as a prank gift with the Union Jack printed on it. The mug makes John smile. Therefore the only mug acceptable right now. Place tea bag from the only box of tea in mug. Add half a teaspoon of sugar: John prefers sweeter tea when he's tired, but a full teaspoon means that he'll finish the cup out of obligation as an Englishman. Jug's taking too long to boil.

Sherlock looked over at John, and by the slump of his shoulders he was fighting sleep, god knew why. Ah, not comfortable enough. Which was weird, John could fall asleep sitting at a desk, why was he letting comfort dictate his ability to slumber now?

Glaring at the jug for continuing to be the bane of his existence, Sherlock quickly ran up stairs and dug about in the storage closet for the foot stool he _knew_ was in there. Emerging triumphant, Sherlock took the stairs briskly back down into the living room. 

Without asking John, Sherlock lifted his feet up and placed the stool beneath, not sticking around long enough to see John's reaction to such a brazen move. But from the lack of a lecture about personal space and how it was completely inappropriate to manhandle, Sherlock was assured that he had done the correct thing. 

The jug _finally_ boiled, Sherlock letting the water calm a bit before pouring the hot water over the tea bag, filling the cup to the desired level. Splash of milk: no milk. No milk. No. Milk.

_No._

_Milk._

Sherlock all but threw himself out of the flat's front door and down the stairs to ground level. He opened Mrs. Hudson's door, stupidly left unlocked, and skidded into her kitchen, yanking open the fridge door. Pumping his fist in the air over a quick victory, Sherlock grabbed her carton of milk and ran back out of her flat and back up the stairs into his own.

Mrs. Hudson spluttered a bit at the barrage of Sherlock that had just happened but got a hold of herself quickly with a smile. Boys will be boys. Especially _her_ boys.

Sherlock took a breath to steady himself then poured in the _splash_ of milk. The tea had steeped sufficiently in the time it had taken him to collect the milk, but Sherlock pressed the teabag against the side of the mug with the teaspoon to encourage a strong brew. Remove tea bag. Give a quick stir. Take a sip: for quality control. _Perfection._

"John, I made you tea."

If John had been on the verge of falling asleep, he was awoken by that. "You? Make tea?" He forced his eyebrows up into his hairline to keep his eyes open, looking at Sherlock in honest surprise. "You've poisoned it."

"Shut up." Sherlock smiled as he handed John the steaming mug of _perfection._

"You always said you'd kill me with poison. And now when I'm at my most vulnerable…"

"Just shut up and drink your tea."

John stared at Sherlock for a moment more before sipping the tea. His facial features relaxed, body sagging into the armchair at a perfect cup of tea. "I don't even care if this is poison. It's perfect."

Sherlock preened at the compliment, sitting down in his chair and watching as John drank the _perfection_ he had made him.

John was sure that if Sherlock was a peacock, his tail feathers would be up and on display he was that smug with himself over making _tea._

With every sip, Sherlock saw John relax into a near hypnotic state. When he had finished the tea John kept the mug in his hands, cradling the remaining warmth left in the ceramic. Sherlock watched as John slowly fell into unconsciousness, and the moment he tipped over Sherlock was up and in his room, digging around in the bottom of his wardrobe.

Emerging victorious, Sherlock walked quietly back into the living room. Sherlock's grandmother had knitted all of her grandchildren blankets. Some stupid tradition that Sherlock had never placed any care in, but his mother had threatened with bodily harm if he even mistreat. So the god awful hand-knitted blanket that contained ever colour under the sun in a pattern that wasn't aesthetically pleasing had been kept in perfect condition.

Sherlock hated the thing, but as he removed the mug from John's hands and placed the blanket overtop his flatmate, he… he decided that he'd write a letter to his grandmother who continued to defy death every day to thank her for making him something that made him happy.

He'd tell her about his _best friend_ , because yes, he had one of those now. And about all the cases they do and how John _always_ has his back. He'd tell her _all_ about John. Everything he could think of. It may become more of a short novel than a letter. But his grandmother would appreciate it nonetheless. But he'd make sure that the most important thing in that letter/hefty novel would be that the blanket she knitted him has found a perfect place in his life and has made him happy.

Quick text to Mrs. Hudson: _'Answer door when it rings and put the food in your fridge. John is asleep, do not bother us.'_

_Perfection._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope that worked, and I hope it made others stressful days a little less stressful too. xoxoxoxox
> 
> If you liked it please **KUDOS** and if you _really_ liked it, please **COMMENT**.
> 
> And if you have a little plotbunny of your own that you'd like to see written out, just head over here and ask!!! http://glow-dark-art.tumblr.com/ask


End file.
